Monthly Archives: June 2020

Guest Article: The Suicide of the Left

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By

William S. Lind

The cultural Marxists think they are riding high.  Thousands of kids are demonstrating for “Black Lives Matter”.  The Left’s long-running war on police is surging as panicked politicians throw the cops under the bus.  Not only Confederate war memorials but those to Union forces as well, along with the World War ll memorial in the Washington mall, are desecrated.  A commune is declared in a six-block area in Seattle.  Anyone in the Establishment who offends in the slightest, most trivial way against Political Correctness is off to the guillotine.  The Terror is again in full swing and the Jacobins are elated.

What is really happening here is not the triumph of the Left, but its suicide.

As I wrote in my last column, the young demonstrators are out there just to be out there, after two months of confinement, “social distancing”, masks, etc. have left them bored out of their skulls.  Their commitment to “Black Lives Matter” (except to other blacks, who kill each other like flies) is a mile wide and an inch deep.  The “cause” could as easily be vegetable rights, Save the Cockroaches, or banning discrimination against bovine flatulence.  Anything that justifies their getting together in large numbers and making trouble works for them.

As the Left gives ordinary Americans a choice between the cops and the vandals, looters, and arsonists who have destroyed small businesses in too many of our cities, the people are lining up with the police.  Here in Cleveland the anger over the destruction on Euclid Avenue in the heart of our downtown is deep and lasting.  People had put their lives into building those businesses and restaurants and now they have to start over.

If you want to make people fight, there are few better ways than attacking their ancestors and war memorials.  The Left will find Confederate flags flying more places, not fewer.  I hope southern towns and rural areas will start erecting new Confederate memorials as the Left vandalizes old ones.  There are plenty of Confederate reenactors who would be delighted to defend statues honoring their ancestors, perhaps with some brass 12-pounder Napoleons loaded with grape.

Greeting card companies stake second quarter profits on the promotional and advertising abilities; rather they offer quality efficient medications online at cheap rates. online cialis continue reading this shop The hematuria and pyuria are levitra discount sometimes seen under the microscope, which can last for months. Also, ensure that you maintain healthy cholesterol with proper diet and exercise regime as continue reading my pharmacy shop prices in uk viagra high cholesterol can harden, narrow or block arteries which go to the penis. Kamagra is the genetic alternative for cialis online usa. cialis, chemically known as sildenafil citrate, has been recognized as one of the major reasons why a couple stays together. The Left’s illusion of victory is leading it to over-reach to the point where its madness is obvious.  Defund the police?  That’s insane.  The police are the thin blue line we all rely on when something goes seriously wrong.  With the police banned from the Seattle commune, it’s turning rapidly into Lord of the Flies.

What we are witnessing here is the Brinton Thesis in action within the Left.  The Brinton Thesis, created by historian Crane Brinton based on his study of the French Revolution, says that revolutions move in a series of coups leading ever-farther to the extreme until the coup of Thermidor brings it all back to the center.  He was looking at countries as a whole, but in this case his thesis can be applied internally to the Left.  (Now you know why in my photo, I’m dining on Lobster Thermidor.)

In America as a whole, I think the reaction will go far beyond a return to the center.  In response to the cultural Marxists’ threat to the majority’s culture and its freedom of thought and expression, we are likely to see a massive shift to the Right.  When reality returns, it will come in a tsunami.

I fear the blacks may bear the brunt of the reaction.  The cultural Marxists are using the blacks as weapons against whites, much the way Reconstruction in the South after the Civil War used local blacks against whites.  That poisoned race relations in the South for a century.  I don’t want to see the same thing happen nationwide now.  Most blacks just want to live normal, middle-class lives.

The irony is that cultural Marxists, who pretend to be black’s “advocates”, did the black urban community in this country more damage than Simon Legree and Senator Bilbo put together.  It was cultural Marxism that, from the 1960s onward, preached a culture of instant sensual gratification in books such as Marcuse’s Eros and Civilization.  In college, white kids “did their own thing”, then got MBAs and law degrees and went to work on Wall Street.  In the ghetto, blacks just kept on doing it, creating the widespread moral and cultural collapse we now witness in our black inner cities. 

The real enemy of whites and blacks alike is cultural Marxism.  I hope the day comes when we unite to fight it.

* William S. (”Bill”) Lind is the author of the Maneuver War Handbook (1985) and the 4thGeneration Warfare Handbook (2011) as several other volumes that deal with war. This article was originally published on traditionalRight on 22.6.2020.

Unanswered Questions

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As late my mother used to say, one idiot can ask more questions than a hundred wise men (and, for God’s sake, women) can answer. We moderns are exceedingly proud of the scientific and technological prowess that has enabled us to see individual atoms. As well as more than double our lifespans (starting around 1800), build superfast computers, send spacecraft to Jupiter, and, last not least, construct weapons literally capable of putting an end to civilization as we know it. And rightly so. Here, though, I want to play the idiot—by writing down a few questions on which, as far as I can see, we have made no progress whatever.

So here goes.

How did the universe begin?

What was before the big bang?

What did whatever was before the big bang bang into?

How many universes are there?

Will the universe come to an end?

What is time?

Did time have a beginning?

Will time come to an end?

Does fate exist?

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How did living spirit grow out of dead matter?

Do plants have feelings?

Will it ever be possible to upload a human mind into a computer?

Will I ever know exactly how B, who is not me, experiences the world?

What enables us to imagine, i.e think of, things that are not?

Are humans and other living beings basically similar or dissimilar?

Are men and women basically similar or dissimilar?

Is there life after death?

*

In case anyone thinks we are closer to answering these questions than our ancestors were ten, twenty, of fifty, thousand years ago, please let me know.

 

My Uncle Aaron

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My late uncle Aaron served in the Jewish Brigade. For those of you who have never heard the term, it was a brigade-strength formation raised by the British among the Jewish population of what was then Mandatory Palestine. Organized and trained in British-occupied Egypt, later it was transferred to Italy where it saw limited, action during the final stages of World War II. Limited not because the soldiers did not want to fight—they did—but because the British did not quite trust them.

Italy, Aaron once told me, was in ruins. As they proceeded south to north from one city to the next, all they saw was ruins. And more ruins. Still more. With people living among them like rats. With no utilities. On the brink of starvation. Begging to sell anything they had—from antiques to their sisters’ bodies. Writing about Nately’s Whore’s kid sister, Joseph Heller in Catch 22 did not have to invent anything. A point Heller did not dwell on was that the Italians may have been even more suspicious of each other than of the conquerors. Their civil war, which had started in 1943 and claimed tens of thousands of lives, was still in progress. Albeit that, as more and more provinces fell under Allied control, it was slowly dying down.

The guy who had started it all, Il Duce Benito Mussolini, was still alive. But not for long. On the 30th of April 1945, while trying to escape into Switzerland, he and his mistress, Claretta Petacci, were discovered by left-wing partisans and shot.

Our understanding of the reasoning that drove Mussolini into the war—the kind of reasoning which, he once claimed, King Vittorio Emanuele III had called “geometrical”—is as good as it can be. It all began in 1935-36 when Britain and France disapproved of Italy’s adventure in Ethiopia, driving it into Hitler’s arms. It went on when Mussolini visited Germany in November 1937 and was given a tumultuous reception that greatly impressed him. In March 1938, he did not try to resist the German annexation of Austria, thereby granting Hitler the greatest triumph in his career until then. In May of that year the two countries signed an offensive alliance to which Mussolini gave the name, Il Patto d’Acciaio, The Pact of Steel. However, when Germany went to war in September 1939 the Italians did not join it. Instead, feeling they were not ready, they presented their German friends with a long list of demands for fuel, raw materials, and weapons. So formidable was it that, in the words of Mussolini’s foreign minister, Galeazzo Ciano, it would have killed an ox—if an ox could read it.

Rather than live up of their commitments under the Pact of Steel, the Italians invented a new concept in international law: Nonbelligerenza (non-belligerence). It put them in a very favorable situation, what with both sides currying favor with them. However, it did not last. As France was overrun by Hitler’s legions, Mussolini thought that his hour had struck. All he needed, he told Ciano, was a few thousand dead; they would serve as his entry-ticket to the peace conference he expected.

People usually do not realize the fact that Vigrx Plus is effective in providing longer and fuller erection, but you’ve to be a little patient to see a noticeable change and tadalafil cipla a better ability to perform well in bed. Difference in dosage may cause serious health hazards. * Last but not least, people who take the medicine without consulting may lead sildenafil cipla to some after effects. With the help of these ingredients cialis 5 mg the formula supports blood flow, relaxes mental functions assisted with sex and boosts libido. It does not matter whether the medicine purchase generic viagra is branded one and works well on the male impotence problem. The peace conference, though, never materialized. As the war went on, Mussolini went from one defeat to the next. His forces failed in France, where their invasion was quickly brought to a halt. They failed in Greece, where the same thing happened. They failed in Libya, where they had to be bailed out by the Germans. The failed at sea, where the British Navy sunk half of their navy. They failed in Russia where, participating in the advance on Stalingrad, they lost heavily for no gain whatsoever. They lost their colonies in East Africa. They were ejected from Libya and Tunisia. They were unable to defend Sicily and, after Sicily, the Italian mainland which was invaded first by the Allies and then by the Germans. They failed and failed; in the whole of history it is difficult to find a war handled in a more incompetent manner.

This is not the place to list the factors that were responsible for these failures. Including a shocking lack of economic-logistic-technical preparation. Including the failure to set up a combined command organization with Germany similar to the one the U.S and Britain had. Including armed forces that were underequipped with modern weapons. Including a supreme command structure—ironically, named Superesercito, Supermarina, and Superaereo—that did not function as it should. Including low morale both in the forces and among the population in general. When Italy entered the war the latter, called out by the Fascist authorities, demonstrated in favor. But it was not long before any enthusiasm there may have been disappeared.

Instead of assisting its ally, Italy became a burden on it. When the war ended the country lost its colonies as well as some territory in the northeast. That apart, though, the it remained intact. Internally, as already described, all was chaos. But the chaos did not last for very long. Thanks partly to the Marshal Plan, but mainly to Italy’s own efforts, the recovery was rapid. Japan apart, for two decades after 1950 no country showed faster rapid economic growth than Italy did.

For Italy as for much of the world, the 1973 Arab-Israeli War, which was followed by the oil crisis, proved a turning point. Later, too, there were all sorts of ups and down. Still the country and its system of government survived. Sustained by its own corruption and cumbersome bureaucracy, some people said. As of the time that Corona broke out, the recent financial crisis having been overcome, the country was as prosperous as at any time in its history. And looking forward to a future that would hopefully be no worse.

And why am I telling you all this? Because yesterday, 10 June, was the eightieth anniversary of Italy’s entry into the war.

Apropos of Nothing

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Allen, Apropos of Nothing, Kindle ed., 2020.

To seize the bull by its horns, I suppose many people bought the book because they hoped for salacious details about the sexual abuse case in which the author was involved. Doing so, of course, is their good right. I myself, though, in spite of having gone through a divorce that, though not quite as terrible, was similar in many ways, found the chapters that deal with this affair the least interesting of all. Who cares about the accusations, which almost thirty years ago were proven utterly baseless, of a woman driven out of her mind by the green eyed monster? Whatever others may say, my own answer is, not I. Much less about all the various lawyers, judges, police officers, psychologists, etc. the case involved. Suffice it to say that Mr. Allen does not retaliate against the woman in question—she does not even deserve to have her name mentioned here—by criticizing her work as an actress. On the contrary, on page after page he has nothing but praise for it. For not allowing a private vendetta to cloud his judgment, hats off.

For me guilt by accusation, as it has been called, is not guilt at all. That said, I want to tell you, my readers, what I am sure you have deducted long ago: namely, that my own preferred way of keeping myself informed/and or amused is neither the movies nor TV. Having been a bookworm all my life, I cannot offer a well-informed critique of what Mr. Allen has to say about his numerous movies and, especially, the more technical problems they involve. Instead, what Apropos of Nothing did do was to teach me a lot about how movies are made. Things like writing the script, looking for a producer, casting, hiring actors, musicians, and experts of every sort, designing and erecting the set, directing, filming, editing, etc. It is enough to make anyone’s head spin. At any rate my head.

By comparison, I thought, writing a book is simple. All the greater my respect for Mr. Allen’s extraordinary productivity during a career that got under way when he was in his late teens and has continued with hardly any interruption for almost seven decades. His book has not only enabled me to gain a better insight into the nature of creativity but confirmed what I had long suspected. Namely, that it is roughly the same across many artistic–and, presumably, scientific—fields; including, besides history, literature, music, the plastic arts, movies, and what not.
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Like Mr. Allen, my one goal in my working life has always been to produce the best book I could about the topic in which I was interested. Like Mr. Allen, I picked those topics either because others mentioned them to me or more or less out of thin air following a sudden inspiration from God knows where. Like Mr. Allen, I have never allowed anyone to interfere with any aspect of my work I considered important. Like Mr. Allen, I know what it is like to get stuck—in my case, for months and even more—only to be set free by a sudden idea, or event, or, on some occasions, a meeting with a friend or with a woman I found fascinating. Like Mr. Allen, looking backward I feel I never succeeded in writing the real masterpiece I had aimed at. Like Mr. Allen, I hardly ever look at my old books. I must confess I do take an occasional look at the reviews and have even put together a list of the most positive passages in case anyone asks for references. To repeat, all this is part and parcel of being, well, I’ll say it, creative. And, as such, very much worth thinking about.

On the negative side, Mr. Allen is an extremely prolific writer, actor, and director who has worked with a great many people and met with even more. That is why several of his chapters comprise little but endless lists of actors, directors, producers, and other people in- and outside the movie industry of whom I had never heard and whose names I could not remember for five seconds after he mentioned them. Their number must be in the hundreds. As a result, in many cases I could not really appreciate either the persons in question or Mr. Allen’s efforts, such as they were, to describe them. As he himself says, no once but twice, he is blabbering.

Finally, not being a great movie fan I did not intend to buy the book. What made me do so nevertheless was the news that Hachette had broken its contract with the author and refused to publish it.  I myself, owing to my views on women and feminism, have been the target of similar treatment. Some publishers have rejected my work simply for that reason; others refused even to consider it in the first place. Such being the case, let me take this opportunity to thank Cambridge University Press, Oxford University Press, Reaktion, and Castalia House for not allowing themselves to be intimidated. Also, Amazon.com for enabling me to publish two extremely politically incorrect books (The Privileged Sex and Pussycats) no English-language publisher wanted. Incidentally, both of these books were taken up by respectable German-language publishers. The first even appeared on the front cover of leading magazines in Germany and Brazil. As Mr. Allen says, you never know what is going to be successful, where, and why. Cast your bread upon the waters, hoping you will indeed find it after many days.

Thank you, Mr. Allen, for teaching me a lot about the world of movie-making, and any number of other things. Including, not least, the nature of creativity and the fact that I am not the only one to find grappling with it difficult. And for doing so in a way that, on the whole and in spite of my ignorance, kept me not merely interested but amused as well.